The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,35

this week, and if that’s your plan, we should get that straightened out here and now. If you’re acting as my tour guide, shouldn’t there be some remuneration for those services?”

“Oh, we can discuss remuneration for my services later,” he teased, looking up from the bill he held in his hand.

She sat back in surprise. Was he suggesting that she repay him by jumping into bed with him? Even from the little she knew of him, that seemed out of character. Was she wrong about that? “I beg your pardon?” she asked in dismay.

He looked up again and read the expression on her face. He actually blanched. “Sarah, I didn’t mean . . . well, what I meant was, you buying lunch or something along those lines. I can see how that sounded. Please accept my apology. My attempt at a joke was in poor taste.”

Sarah didn’t doubt his sincerity. This was more in line with what she’d learned of his character thus far. “Apology accepted. Perhaps I wasn’t far off about those deep-seated trust issues,” she sighed, shrugging her shoulders.

“No, just cautious, as any woman traveling alone should be. Which begs the question: why did you agree to have a strange man chauffer you around all week? Aren’t you breaking your rule about dating strangers? And didn’t your mother teach you not to accept rides from strangers?” he asked with a devastating grin.

She had to look away a moment to get a grasp on her thoughts. “Is this a date?”

“Of course. What else would it be?”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “Well, I guess after dinner tonight, we are no longer strangers. Besides, you came with the Lady Clara stamp of approval,” she explained, quite pleased with her rational response.

“Yes, I’ve succeeded in pulling the wool over my grandmother’s eyes,” he said, wringing his hands like a diabolical villain. “I am an actor, you know,” he said, turning his attention back to the bill.

She noted he was left-handed, like Adrian. Stop! Again with the comparisons.

“I doubt anyone could pull the wool over Lady Clara’s eyes,” she said, dubious, as he walked around to pull out her chair for her.

“No. Even the great Houdini couldn’t deceive that dear lady.”

It was much later than she thought. Since the light this time of year lingered well past nine-thirty p.m., it was easy to lose track of time. Of course, she’d also been so absorbed in their conversation that she didn’t realize how late it was. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d been absorbed in Alex.

He walked her to the lobby. At the foot of the stairs leading to the guest rooms, he reached out, and, taking her wrist, leaned down to give her a very sweet kiss on her cheek as he whispered, “Goodnight, Sarah Edwards. Pleasant dreams.”

Chapter 11

Sunday morning dawned cool and damp, so Sarah dressed in layers in case it warmed up later. Wearing trouser jeans, a sleeveless blouse, and a sweater, she grabbed a jacket and hurried down the stairs, feeling like a teenage girl on her first date, slowing as she came through the lobby and out the door, not wanting to appear too eager.

He waited outside the hotel, leaning up against the passenger door of a car, arms casually folded across his chest. The Ralph Lauren image came to mind again.

“Good morning,” he said, beaming, as he pushed off the car and opened the door for her. “‘She looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew,’”

“Good morning,” she said, then added, “Thank you,” feeling a blush crawl up her face at his compliment.

He wore a pair of jeans and a cashmere v-neck sweater in dark blue, with a white T-shirt underneath. She noted with curiosity that his hair was still damp, like he’d just towel-dried it on his way out the door. He walked around to the driver’s side.

“Whose car?” Sarah asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

He turned to look at her before pulling away from the curb. “I borrowed Trevor’s car for the day.”

It was a Renault of some kind, rather small by American standards, but not atypical for European cars. She could smell his scent in the coziness of the warm interior. It was woodsy, with notes of bergamot and cinnamon; a rich, masculine scent.

“That’s very generous of him.”

“He doesn’t have any plans for today, so is in no rush to get it back. Besides, Oxford is a cycling city. If he does need to run out, he’ll use